


The Invisible Man

by Talithax



Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: Doubt, Friendship, Halloween Costumes, M/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-27 21:07:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12590540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talithax/pseuds/Talithax
Summary: - Set immediately post Rogue Nation- Will no longer wants to be part of the team and Ethan has no idea why.





	The Invisible Man

**Author's Note:**

> \- Narrated by Ethan & self-beta'd.
> 
> \- Halloween fic of... sorts. Actually, it was meant to be last year's Halloween fic (of sorts), but... Well... I didn't finish it in time. (Ooops...)  
> \- It's also only 'of sorts' because it really doesn't have anything to do with Halloween at all. But... There is a Halloween party and costumes, so... Hey. That's why I'm finally posting it.
> 
> \- Enjoy!

==============  
The Invisible Man  
by TalithaX  
==============

 

“Where's Will?”

Extricating myself from Benji's limpet like hug, the one which he just had to go and envelope me in the second I walked through the door and which, of course, just had to touch on every one of the damn bruises that currently litter my body, I take a step around him and frown as I survey the room. While my expectations had always been low in regards to what I might find in the hotel room MI6 had oh-so-magnanimously booked us in to by way of begrudging inter-agency 'co-operation', I can see now that they've been exceeded in terms of sheer, to use the local vernacular, naffness and, too weary to find it in myself to care, don't even bother with raising the energy to sigh.

Just...

Par for the course, really.

Old, tired, and taking basic to an all new level, the room is just that, a room. A sad little hotel room in a sad little hotel long past its glory days and buried, far from the tourist trade, in the back streets of London. Two double beds covered in faded, dusty bedspreads the colour of dry grass by the back wall, a rickety looking table and two chairs by the small window overlooking the tiny alley way that, as I walked past it, struck me as smelling all too strongly of eau de urine, the smallest, cheapest digital television set on the market today mounted on the wall in front of the beds, and that, really, is pretty much it. I want to think that that they've at least booked two of these two-star-at-best rooms for us but, knowing how Six feel about IMF at the moment, not to mention the two double beds staring me tellingly in the face, cold hard logic tells me not to hold my breath.

… Thanks for both doing our job for us and cleaning up our mess, now fuck off out of our country.

Typical.

The cheapness of the room mightn't surprise me, but like just about everything at the moment it sure does piss me off.

“He didn't tell you?” Benji queries, giving me an odd, vaguely nervous look which, given the mood I'm in at the moment only serves to put me even more on edge than I was before I walked through the door. “I just... I don't know. I just thought he would have called or...”

“Would he have asked if he knew?” Luther drawls from his position, propped up by what may well be every pillow in the room, on the bed closest to the window. “Think about it, Benji. If Ethan knew...”

“I just thought he would have told him,” Benji interrupts in a small voice as, hugging his arms tightly around his chest, he walks over to the table and sinks down into a chair. “I mean... Uh... Will, he's usually...

“Let me try asking this again,” I state, scowling first at Benji and then at Luther as I shrug out of my leather jacket and throw it down on to the bed. “Where's Will? I assumed when I left him at Vauxhall Cross that he would have made his way back here to join you.”

“Yeah, well, you assumed wrong,” Luther mutters with a dry, dismissive snort. “Brandt's returned to the Mother Ship and is, as we speak, winging his way back to Washington on the jet with Hunley.”

“What?” Luther's response being just about the last thing I expected to hear, I shake my head as though in denial and turn my attention to Benji as he sits, slumped shouldered and staring listlessly at his feet, at the table. “Benji? Why would Will...”

“He said that Hunley offered him a seat on the jet and, knowing the shit load of work that's waiting back in D.C. to get IMF up and running again, he decided to take it,” Benji replies without lifting his head to glance up at me. “He... He sounded tired and sort of... flat, but... his mind was made up and I couldn't get him to change it.”

“That's all he said?” I demand. “After everything we've been through he just decided to up and leave without so much as a farewell? That's...”

“About what I'd expect from him,” Luther finishes, giving me a cool look as I jerk my head around to glare at him. “What? You can look at me like that all you want. Sure. The man might have his limited uses, but he's still just an ass-kissing Suit whose number one priority in life is looking after himself.”

“Luther, I don't think...”

“Don't bother trying to set him straight, Benji,” I state, cutting him off as I take a seat on the edge of the bed and kick my shoes off, “as that's just it, he doesn't think. Nor, for that matter, does he know Will like we do and...” Pausing, I glance over at Luther and, too tired, crabby and out of sorts to care if I'm being rude or not, add, “Personally I think he'd do well to keep his shitty, incorrect opinions to himself.”

“Whatever,” Luther retorts, picking up his iPad and settling himself back against his pillows. “Just don't forget, of the two of us, which one is actually still here putting up with your whiny ass.”

Not wanting to risk putting my foot any further in it by letting it slip out that, of the two of them, it's not Luther I want here putting up with... my whiny ass... anymore than I want things to deteriorate into a full blown argument, I lie down on the bed and, after settling myself on my side, pointedly present my back to Luther. “Will's right, we need to be back in D.C.,” I declare, closing my eyes as, too exhausted to fight it, I can feel myself giving in to my body's need for sleep. “Just... Benji, do whatever you have to do to get us on the first flight out of here.”

London.

MI6.

The Syndicate.

Lane.

Hunley.

Being interrogated by stupid, arrogant pricks who I swear seemed to think I'd put myself through hell for delusional ideas of personal glory.

The long, drawn out time I've spent away from those I care about.

I'm just...

… Over it.

All of it

I just thought...

Will.

Now that it's finally all over, I just thought Will would have been waiting for me.

~*~*~*~

“You're kidding me, right?”

Cocking my head to the side, I stare, open-mouthed and feeling remarkably like I've just tumbled down Alice's rabbit hole, at Will in hopeful anticipation of him both laughing and confirming that, yes, he was indeed pulling my leg.

I mean...

No.

Surely not.

He can't really mean it.

Just...

Why would he?

“I'm sorry, Ethan,” Will replies as he simultaneously hugs the folder he's carrying a little closer to his chest and throws everything he's got in to not actually looking at me, “but my mind's made up.”

“But...” Realising that I don't even know what to say, I fall silent and settle for giving as nonchalant looking shrug as I can manage. Of all the things Will could have said to me, this... bombshell... isn't even something that ever crossed my mind. Knowing how tightly strung he is and how much he's prone to worrying, I half suspected that he'd hit me with some sort of lecture on going off and doing the lone wolf thing, but this...

This is something else again.

Unexpected.

Unwanted. 

And a huge, unwelcome cause for concern.

“Just think about it for...”

“I have been thinking about it,” Will interrupts with a weary sigh as he leans back against the wall and tilts his head back to gaze up at the ceiling, “and my mind is made up. I'm going to work with Hunley until the IMF is back up and running again, and then, as I feel it's where my skills will be best utilised, I'm going to return to the Analyst's Section.”

“But...” I shake my head and, despite knowing it's not going to do me any good, shift position so that I'm standing directly in front of Will. “I get the importance of getting IMF back on its feet and, okay, fine, I can certainly see the logic of you being a part of this process, but... Wanting to stay stuck behind a desk? Come on, Will, you're better than that and you know it.”

“Do I?” he replies, giving me an unreadable look as he pushes away from the wall and moves around me. “Please, Ethan. This is hard enough for me as it is and, as my mind really is made up, I would appreciate it if you would just accept my decision and make your peace with it.”

“Fine. I accept that it's your decision, but...”

“There's no buts,” Will states as he turns around and fixes me with a sad eyed, possibly even wounded look. “I can't... I can't do this, Ethan, and I... I won't! I won't let you do this to me and...” Taking a deep breath, he shakes his head and, looking more agitated by the second, starts to walk off. “Just... Please. Leave me alone. I... I'm done.”

His piece, or if you like... second bombshell... delivered, Will strides off down the corridor as fast as he possibly can without giving in and starting to run and, as I gaze after him, my mouth once again hanging open in shock, quickly disappears into his office.

Alone in the corridor and feeling somewhat as though I've just been hit by a bus, I shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans and slowly begin to walk in the opposite direction to the one Will just took.

It...

It really wasn't supposed to be like this.

Not having seen him since London, I'd been looking forward to catching up with Will to both discuss the future with him and, well, to just... see... him. Although he'd been waiting, sitting on the floor and clearly exhausted, for me when I finally got out of my seeming never-ending interrogation at MI6's headquarters at Vauxhall Cross, I'd ignored him as much to save him from my foul mood as my own all-consuming desire to just get the hell out of there before I really let rip and told Hunley and his UK cronies what I really thought of them, and...

I don't get it.

A week has passed since then and I'd thought, seeing as things were slowly beginning to fall back in to place in terms of IMF being back in business, that life really would just go on as it had been before The Syndicate came along and blew everything so spectacularly to shit. We were back in D.C., Jane had already announced that she was heading back once she'd wrapped up her final case in New York for the F.B.I, Benji was making noises about wanting to get back out into the field once I'd been cleared, and Will...

Okay.

Not being as entirely clueless and self-absorbed as some might believe, I knew, not that I was doing anything to acknowledge it, that Will appeared to be avoiding me. Along with not returning my phone calls or emails, he was never anywhere – gym, cafeteria, counselling suite – that I happened to be but, too busy trying to settle back into my old life, I hadn't really let it get to me. Accepting that he was no doubt as flat out as I was, I merely bided my time, safe, or so I thought anyway, in the knowledge that everything would be fine once we finally found a spot in our hectic schedules to get together.

Will...

He risked everything to feed me CIA intel while I was out on my own. He then, without hesitation, came directly to my aid when Hunley decided to call in the services of the Special Activities Branch. 

Yet now...

… Now he doesn't want anything to do with me.

~*~*~*~

“Hey! What are you doing in here?”

Choking back a sigh at having the solitude I'd been enjoying in the locker room as I changed in to my running gear so rudely broken, I finish tying my shoe lace and reluctantly glance up at the belligerent sounding man as he stands, dripping wet and with a towel clutched tightly in front him, by the entrance to the shower stalls Although he looks completely pissed off about something and appears to be glaring at the door as though he hopes the heat of his gaze will cause whoever it is that's there to shrivel up and die, I can't, in all honesty, dredge up even the slightest hint of curiosity as to what's pushing his buttons and simply lean forward in order to tie up my other lace. 

I don't know the man, I don't care that he's aggrieved, and the closest I can get to feeling anything about the situation is a vague desire to not be sitting here in the middle of it. 

“Hey! Didn't you hear me? You don't belong in here!”

“And yet,” a familiar female voice drawls from behind me, “here I am.”

“You don't belong...”

“Yeah, yeah. You've said that already,” Jane interrupts in a dismissive tone as, making no attempt to disguise the smirk I can feel tugging on the corner of my lips, I sit up straight and, suddenly far more interested in proceedings than I was a moment ago, look back over at the man. “Don't tell me, let me guess. Awkward around women. Repetitive. Not exactly fit... You're from tech support, aren't you?”

“Didn't you see the sign on the door?” the man demands as, his eyes flashing with indignation, he gestures with obvious agitation towards Jane. “It clearly states... Men!”

“So it did,” she agrees in a condescending tone. “As, however, it did not specify... Men Only... I chose to read it as more of a suggestion than set in stone.”

“But...”

“Got you there, didn't I?”

“You... You...” Scowling, the man takes a few hesitant steps backwards. “You still don't belong in here!” he proclaims, pausing just long enough to shoot me a disappointed look – the sort that says, as a man, I clearly should have sided with him – before scurrying back to the female-free sanctuary of the showers. “What's more, I'm going to tell HR about this!”

“You do that,” Jane mutters with a snort of laughter as she comes up behind me and places her hands down on my shoulders. “What a dick.” Pausing, she laughs again and, sliding her hands down my chest, presses herself against my back. “And I'm not talking about what he was trying so desperately to keep hidden by his towel, either.”

Smiling, I place my hands over Jane's and press down on them for a few seconds. “I see your innate ability to make friends and influence people hasn't changed,” I state with a laugh of my own as I stand up and step over the bench in order to wrap my arms around her for a quick hug.

“What can I say? It's a gift,” she retorts, relaxing in to my embrace. “Besides, given how antsy he got over, God forbid, a woman in his locker room, I think it's fair to say he deserves everything he gets.”

“Oh, believe me, I wasn't thinking of standing up for him.” Releasing Jane, I take a step back and, for the first time in what feels like far too long, flash a genuinely happy smile at her as I take in how well she looks. “Long time, no see, huh?”

“Too long,” she replies, blatantly looking me up and down. “I'd say you're a sight for sore eyes, only... Shit, Ethan! When was the last time you had a good sleep?”

“If you think this is bad, you should have seen A, the beard, and B, all the grey in it,” I reply, quickly brushing off the obvious look of concern in her eyes in favour of trying to keep things light. “I... I'm fine. Really. Just adapting to life back here in D.C. and the thought of being stuck with Hunley as the new Secretary, that's all.”

“Uh-huh. If you say so.”

“Well, I do,” I mutter, sounding even to my own ears just a little too defensive for comfort. “Uh... But enough about me,” I add with a somewhat forced grin. “When did you get in?”

“Landed a couple of hours ago,” Jane responds, giving me the sort of look that tells me better than words ever could that she's wise to the bullshit I'm feeding her and, for the time being at least, is just going to let it slide. “Finished my last op with the Feeb yesterday, packed my crummy little apartment up last night, and caught the first flight out of New York this morning.”

“And you came straight to the office?” I shake my head and affect an expression of shock. “That's... dedication.”

“More like... this is where everyone I wanted to see just happened to be,” she corrects, rolling her eyes at my feigned disbelief.

“Aaaw... Warm fuzzies. You missed me.”

“Of course I missed you, you fool,” Jane retorts as she gives my arm a light punch. “I missed all of you. Hell, I may even have missed this place itself. That said, perhaps I would have been better off saying... Everyone that I'm hoping to get answers from just happen to be here.”

“Oh.” Sighing, I sink down on to the bench and, solely for the lack of any other viable options, give Jane a resigned look. “And there I was thinking you just wanted to see me.”

“I did, and I really have missed you, but...” Echoing my sigh, she sits down next to me and rests her hand on my knee. “Come on, Ethan. What gives, huh? What did you do to Will?”

And there it is. The sixty-four thousand dollar question. The one that I would, in fact, pay more than that for the answer to myself.

What... did... I do to Will?

We've been back in D.C. for just over a fortnight now and I'm none the wiser as to what's going on in his head than I was in London. Clearly having turned avoiding me into an art form, I haven't even seen him since he walked off on me in the corridor last week and, well and truly feeling as though I don't know what to say to him anyway, nor have I attempted to seek him out. I know it's unbecoming of me, just as I know I'm most likely running the risk of making things even worse between us by simply... leaving sleeping dogs lie, but I honestly don't know what else to do.

Will made it abundantly clear that he doesn't want anything to do with me and, regardless of how much this might confuse and dismay me, I just have to accept it.

It's hard, and I hate it, but I don't know what else I'm supposed to do. If I corner him and demand an answer, and it only makes things even worse, then...

Stuck between a rock and a hard place had nothing on it.

“Benji?” I murmur with another sigh. “You've been talking to Benji...”

“Of course, Benji,” Jane responds, trying unsuccessfully to catch my eye. “You probably don't want to hear this, but he's very concerned about what it is that's going on between the pair of you. Not just because the team means a lot to him and he hopes, like I do, that we can all go back to working together, but because... you... mean a lot to him as well. Both of you.” Pausing, she gently digs her elbow into my ribs. “I know I haven't been around, and that you're no doubt sitting there wishing I'd butt out and leave things I know nothing about well enough alone, but I can't. Like Benji, the team means as much to me as my own family does and, knowing how close the two of you were getting before... uh... everything went to shit, I can't help but be concerned about whatever it is that's going on now. Ethan... Don't think I won't be putting the same question to Will as, trust me, he's next on my list. As, however, he's in a meeting and you're just sitting here, right now, you're it, and... Come on, there has to be a reason for him not wanting anything to do with you...”

“I...” Lowering my head, I gaze down at Jane's hand as it rests on my knee and, accepting that trying to fob her off would only be delaying the inevitable, decide to simply go with the hardly informative truth.

“I wish I had an answer for you.”

~*~*~*~

“Well, shit!” Luther exclaims, his expression the very embodiment of mock concern as he comes to a stop in front of me and claps his hand down on my shoulder. “Don't tell me it's finally happened?”

“What's finally happened?” I mutter as, shooting him a scowl, I shrug off his hand and, stepping around him, continue to walk towards the elevators. “Actually, no. Forget about it,” I continue as he, despite having been heading in the opposite direction only a moment ago, spins on his heels and gets in step with me. “I don't want to...”

“They've finally had enough of your antics and fired your ass, yeah?” he interrupts, gracing me with what I suspect he believes is his best interpretation of an innocent look. “Surely that has to be...”

“What?” Shaking my head, I come to a reluctant stop and, although I'm really not in the mood for company, let alone banter, give Luther an expectant look. “What on earth are you on about?”

“Going on that doom and gloom expression you were sporting when you walked out of the office, I just assumed that you'd finally found a way to break that last straw and were on your way out for good,” Luther drawls as, with a shrug, he once again positions himself in front of me. “I mean, don't get me wrong, you've been walking around with a stick up your ass for a couple of weeks now, but...”

“I've been officially cleared for active duty,” I state flatly as, leaning my back against the wall, I fold my arms across my chest and sigh, “and that, if you must know, is what I'm looking so... happy about.”

“Happy?”

“Overjoyed.”

“Oh yeah, you look it, too.”

“Just...” I sigh again and give a quick shake of my head. “Whatever. I'm fine. Everything is just... peachy.”

“Uh-huh. Peachy,” Luther mutters as he gives me a cool look from under an arched brow. “You give what I'm thinking had to be Oscar award winning performance of contrition and, quite possibly for no other reason than they want you out of their sight, the Powers That Be are letting you loose on an unsuspecting world again. Uh... Forgive me for thinking that's a... good... thing.”

“I need a team,” I retort, unfolding my arms only to shove my hands in the pockets of my jeans. “Before I'm, as you put it, let loose, I need to settle on a team.” And, simply put, that particular sticking point is where my big problem lies. I don't want to settle on a team. I want my team, the one that gelled against the odds in Dubai and which I already trust with my life. I want Benji, and I want Jane, and I definitely want Will. Not... two out of three, but the exact same team I'd been lucky enough to be a part of before Lane and his fucking Syndicate turned everything so spectacular to shit. Sure, knowing that I've jumped through enough hoops and – albeit entirely feigned – kissed enough ass to finally be released from the confines of HQ is something of a positive, and I know I should be grateful for the tiny glimmer of light at the end of the very long and very dark tunnel, but...

It's not enough.

Maybe I'm just being either self-absorbed or astonishingly selfish. Hell. Maybe I'm even indulging in a spot of delusional thinking, but the way I'm currently seeing it is that if I can't get back everything that I've lost, perhaps I don't want it at all. Field work. IMF. Fighting the good, relentless, and thankless fight.

Maybe I should...

… Admit defeat. Draw a line in the sand. Move on. Don't look back.

Just...

… Accept.

“You've got a team,” Luther replies, giving me an odd, possibly questioning look. 

“I've got, assuming Benji hasn't taken Lane strapping a bomb to him personally and Jane actually wants to work with me again, part of a team,” I counter glumly. 

“So? Sounds like a good start to me.”

“A good start, yeah, but we'd need a fourth.”

“So? I don't know whether you've noticed it or not, Ethan, but this place is crawling with agents that would sell their own mother to work with you.”

“More fool them.”

“Oh, I'm not saying that they'd actually be sane or anything like that, just that you could have your pick of the place.”

“It's not the pick of the place that I want, it's...” Realising, although it's no doubt already too late, that I've said too much, I fall silent and try to brush my faux pas off by giving a truly lame shrug. “Uh... Never mind. Maybe I'll just resign myself to be stuck with you again and be done with it.”

“Never mind, my ass,” Luther declares with a derisive sounding snort. “You know what, I think I'm finally starting to get it. You're moping around because of that damn desk jockey!”

Immediately, just as I'm sure would have been his intention, seeing red at Luther's casual use of his favourite, dismissive term for Will, I push away from the wall and, without even looking at him, start to walk off. “And, just like that, our conversation has come to it's natural, some might even say inevitable conclusion,” I mutter under my breath as, proving beyond all doubt that this really isn't my day, he once again gets in step with me. “I'm not kidding, Luther. I've got nothing else to say...”

“Yeah, yeah,” he interjects with another, slightly more amused sounding this time, snort. “You might think you've got nothing to say to me, but I've still got plenty to say to you.”

“Good for you,” I snap, shooting him a narrow eyed look that he'd do well to take as a warning to back off. “As, however, I don't want...”

“What's he got over you, anyway?” Luther queries bluntly as he gives me a narrowed eyed look of his own. “Don't forget I know you, Ethan, and the way that...”

“Call him a desk jockey again and I swear I'm going to drop you,” I declare, spinning on my heels and, as I come to a stop, jabbing my finger into Luther's broad chest. “This... I don't know. This might seem like a fun, button pushing chat or something like that to you, but I'm telling you now that I'm just not in the mood.”

“No? Really? I never would have guessed.” Batting my finger away with a smirk, Luther grabs me by the shoulders and roughly turns me around so that I'm once again facing in the direction of the elevator. “Besides, if you must know I'd been going to go with a generic... dude... that time.”

“Whatever. I still don't want to hear it.”

“Then, as you're gonna hear it, that's just tough.”

“You don't know anything...”

“As I'd been going to say before I was so rudely interrupted,” he states, calmly talking over the top of me as, side by side and without looking at each other, we slowly make our way along the corridor, “the way that dude seems to have something over you doesn't make any sense to me.”

“Have something over me?” I repeat, only just resisting the urge to block Luther's path and give his chest another, more forceful this time, poke. “Just what the fuck are you talking about? He's...”

“A Suit. An ass kissing analyst who dabbles in field work and excels in self-preservation. You only have to look at the way he became Hunley's lap dog to...”

“Lap dog?” I echo, coming to an abrupt halt. “I...” Words failing me, I shake my head and glare daggers at Luther as, clearly enjoying this little exchange far more than I am, he gives me an unbothered look. “You... You don't know what you're talking about!”

“No?” he murmurs, really hammering home just how at ease he is with pushing my buttons by having the nerve to smile quite happily at me. “Then, hey, why don't you take the time to enlighten me, huh? From where I'm standing it would appear that the lap dog has you whipped.”

“And yet, when the chips were down and I needed to know who my true friends were,” I state, acid all but dripping off my tongue as I draw myself up to my full height and hold Luther's gaze, “it was the... lap dog... that stood by me. Instead of chucking his toys out of the stroller and getting the hell out of Dodge like, oh, I don't know, you... for example, he stayed put, sucked up Hunley's power plays, and... saved my ass!”

“And his in the process, I would imagine,” Luther replies with a small shrug. “Kept his job, didn't rock the boat...”

“And was always there for me when I needed him,” I finish, giving Luther a disgusted look as I turn around and once again begin to head towards the elevators. “Think what you want of him, Luther. Just... Call him a lap dog or a desk jockey, I don't care.”

“No?” Could have fooled me.”

“And the reason I don't care, Mr Know-It-All, is because I know the truth. I know the risks he took to get information to me, just as I know I never would have made it as far as I did without him.” Reaching – at long last – the elevators, I hit the button to call it to our floor and shoot Luther a warning look. “You know as well as I do that if he'd been caught his career would have been over or, even worse, he'd have been charged with treason, but he never faltered. He got intel to me when I needed it the most and then, once Hunley had decided the time had come to deploy his stupid hit squad, he reached out to you because he knew he couldn't just stand idly by.”

“Who said he did it for you?” he queries in that calm, smug manner of his that's currently making me want to cut loose and head butt him. “For all you know it could have been about the bigger picture of playing both sides and keeping himself in a job.”

“I never said anything about... why... he did it,” I reply, “just that he did it. He saved me from a number of Hunley's traps and then, granted, thanks to your assistance, once we were all together as an ad hoc team, it was the way he both accepted and went along with my plan that made it work. Again, think whatever you want of him, Luther, but if it wasn't for Will and all the work he did in the background, I wouldn't be standing here now.”

There's more to it, of course. A lot more. While everything I've just said is true, the part Will played in bringing the Syndicate down is only a small of percentage of the reason I hold him in such high regard. Yes. It's true. I honestly don't believe I'd be where I am today if it weren't for his skill, loyalty and dedication. He stood by me when everyone else was either unwilling or unable to, and for that reason alone he'll forever hold an important role in my life.

But, again, that really is just the start of it.

Will. He...

It makes little sense to me, and God knows it's something I have enough difficulty getting my head around myself without trying to put it into words, but having Will in my life has opened me up to possibilities I once never would have even considered. It's like, I look at him, and I see...

… Hope.

That is, I... saw... hope.

I saw, in Will, the chance of a future built on trust, honesty, and friendship.

We worked well together, got on, once the issue of Croatia was put to bed, almost ludicrously well, and I liked him.

I liked him a lot.

He was, to my way of thinking, exactly what my life had been missing. Skilled colleague, friend, and assuming the signals I thought I was picking up from him weren't a figment of my imagination, possibly even... lover.

I wanted him.

I wanted our friendship to transition naturally into more. I wanted to get to know him better, and I wanted to know... all... of him. What he tasted like. Whether he was ticklish. What side of the bed he preferred to sleep on. His favourite cereal.

I...

I wanted it all.

And, or so I thought anyway, he gave every indication of feeling the same way about me.

We lingered in each other's company, laughed at the same things, and could talk about anything. Once, thanks solely to necessity brought on by exhaustion, cold, and inadequate lodgings, we even slept together and to this day I remember it as having been the best night's sleep I'd had for years.

Then came Lane. And Hunley.

And everything imploded. 

From coasting along quite contentedly with my dreams and comfortable sense of there being no need to rush things, to being on my own in next to no time at all. To call it something of a culture shock doesn't even begin to do it justice. 

But we do what we have to do.

I accepted my new, self-imposed responsibility for bringing The Syndicate to justice and simply persevered. It wasn't easy, and I certainly didn't enjoy it, but, again, I did what I felt I had to.

And always, in the back of my mind, was the thought of Will to keep me going. Knowing that he had my back offered me a reassuring sense of protection, and the thought of eventually making my way back to him gave me as much to strive for as destroying The Syndicate did.

If I thought I could explain it in a way that didn't make me seem like I was off with the fairies, I'd tell Luther that, even if it was only in my own head, I owe both my success, and my life, to Will.

But...

Maybe I really am delusional.

Maybe the signs I remember seeing, the ones that I've held on to for so long now, were never there.

What I do know though – and this is something that, regardless of wherever things might go from here, won't ever change – is that I credit Will for getting me through. From everything he did for me, to the fresh injection of determination I got from seeing him in Morocco and the way he played his part to perfection in London, and all the way down to how simply wanting to see him again kept me pushing forward, Will, he...

… Saved me.

He may never know it, and perhaps whatever is is I've apparently done to him is irreparable, but to me he'll forever hold a special part of my heart.

The 'ding' of the elevator doors opening drawing me back in to the here and now, I straighten my shoulders and, without bothering to offer Luther an excuse for my silence, step in to the elevator and press the button for the ground floor. “What?” I mutter as he follows me into the elevator and, patience never really being his strong point, immediately jabs his finger into the button that will close the doors. “Surely you've got some sort of smart ass comment or annoying question to add.”

“Nope,” Luther grins. “You trust him, and I'm more than welcome to keep any and all opinions I have on the matter to myself.”

“Now you're getting the picture!” Swivelling around, I – dare to believe that this interrogation is finally over – risk giving Luther a tentative smile. “Pity it took you so long, though.”

“Oh, for what it's worth, I reckon the dude's okay,” he replies as, his grin widening, he drops me a wink for good measure. “Sure, he's a little squirrelly, and I'm not saying I'm in a rush to go to a game or anything like that with him, but... he's okay.”

“Uh...” Despite not being the slightest bit surprised by his somewhat sudden confession, I groan and dig my elbow into Luther's side. “You did this on purpose, didn't you?”

“What?” Widening his eyes, Luther fails dismally in his attempt to affect an expression of innocence personified. “As a friend, I was simply...”

“Doing your very best to get a rise out of me,” I retort with both a roll of my eyes and a long suffering sigh. “Some friend you are.”

“And you'd better believe it, too!”

“How about... I take your word for it and we just leave it at that?”

“Nice try, Hunt, but I ain't quite finished yet,” Luther responds, fixing me with a serious look. “Come on, man, you know as well as I do that's something has got to give. Now, I don't know what's caused the pair of you to fall out and, nor, believe it or not, do I particularly want to, but things can't go on like this. You look like you've got a black cloud of despair constantly hanging over your head and, for what it's worth, Brandt don't look that much better.” Pausing, he slings his arm around my shoulders and pulls me against him for a rough embrace. “Seriously. You've got to step up to the plate and, at the very least, get to the bottom of this mess.”

Choosing not to tell Luther that that's easy for him to say, I shrug off his arm and murmur, “It doesn't matter. Hopefully Jane and Benji will agree to be on my team, I'll pick our fourth from... uh... the masses wandering around this place, and be out of his hair. What... What's done is done.”

“Anyone would think you'd been replaced by a dead from the knees up clone,” Luther mutters as, the elevator doors opening on the ground floor, he gestures for me to get out first. “Just... You should listen to yourself, man. The Ethan Hunt I knew wouldn't be pussy footing around the situation like this. No. He'd march right up to it and grab it by the balls.”

“Yeah, well, this Ethan Hunt likes his teeth too much to travel down that path,” I reply in a half assed attempt at facetiousness as I wait for Luther to join me before turning in the direction of the main entrance doors.

“Huh? What's that supposed to mean?”

“It means... if I grabbed this particular situation by the balls I suspect I'd get my teeth knocked down my throat,” I retort drily as, feeling far more weary than I have any reason to, I stare down at the floor. “Look, Luther. Just leave it, please. Maybe... I don't know. Maybe things are just better off like this anyway.”

I don't believe it myself, and God knows it's not what I want, but if it's what Will wants then I...

… I just have to respect it and, most importantly, find a way to move on from it.

~*~*~*~

“Dear God!” I exclaim, glancing up at the peculiar looking vision that has suddenly materialised in front me. “Just what the fuck are...”

“Uh!” Jane lifts her hand up in a 'stop' gesture and scowls down at me. “As I know what it is you're going yo go with there, let me save you the bother by saying... Don't. Just don't go there.”

“Don't go there?” I pat the seat of the ornate chaise lounge I'm sitting on, the one that just happens to be pushed up against the wall and about as far away from the... action... as I can be while still remaining in the ballroom, next to me in an open invitation to sit. “Sorry. But I'm already there.”

“I don't suppose you'd be satisfied with just being told it's my Halloween costume and leaving it at that?” Jane offers hopefully as, glancing down at what she's wearing, her scowl intensifies.

“You're right. I wouldn't be satisfied with that at all,” I reply, slowly looking her up and down as my brain struggles to make any sense whatsoever of what she's wearing. While I can more or less get my head around the messy looking scraps of brown leather that make up her bra-like top, decidedly skimpy skirt and knee-high boots as, hey, for all I know it's some out there, modern take on The Flinstones, the expertly applied elf ears and the fact that all of her exposed flesh – of which there's a fair bit – appears to be an odd, khaki green colour, are...

Well. They're something else again.

“Come on, fess up,” I add in a pleading tone as I give the seat next to me another pat. “What, apart from a cellar dwelling geek's wet dream, that is, in God's name are you supposed to be?”

“Actually, I think you got it in one with your description of it being a cellar dwelling geek's wet dream,” she replies, wrinkling her nose in obvious distaste as she takes a step back and gestures down at her costume. “As, however, I don't think you're going to let up until I tell you, I'm, and I hope I get this right, Garnora.”

“Gamora? But...” More confused by Jane's costume than makes any sense to me, I shake my head and frown. “I thought she was the green... uh... that is, far greener chick from Guardians of the Galaxy?”

“I'm meant to be Garnora, not... Gamora,” Jane retorts as she sits down on the lounge and gives me the sort of look that's usually best described as... dumbfounded. “How do you know about the green chick from Guardians of the Galaxy, anyway?”

“The same reason, I very much suspect, that you're sitting there dressed as whoever the fuck Garnora is,” I respond wryly. “Think about it for a second. I mean, why else would I know anything about a movie with a damn talking raccoon in it!”

“Benji,” Jane confirms with a roll of her eyes. “Of course it's thanks to Benji I'm stuck looking like this all night. If I'd been left to my own devices I'd been going to go with a good old fashioned witch costume.”

“I take it you lost a bet?”

“One that you're never going to know the details of.”

“That good, huh?”

“That would depend on how warped your definition of good was.”

“Fair enough.” Realising that I'm less interested in... why... Jane is wearing what she is as I am still curious in regards to whatever it is she's supposed to be, I shrug my acceptance and change tack. “Back to... Garnora, though. Just who or... what... is she supposed to be anyway?”

“Some half orc creature from World of Warcraft, I think,” Jane mutters, smoothing down her excuse for a skirt as, stretching her legs out, she makes herself comfortable. “To be honest, I didn't really listen to Benji as he babbled on. I knew, having lost the bet, that I didn't have much choice in the matter and that, really, was pretty much it.” Pausing she glances at me and trails her fingers lightly along my arm. “What about you? Who are you supposed to be?”

“Me?” Standing up, I strike a quick pose before sitting straight back down again. “I'm... Second Last Costume In My Size In The Store.”

Jane raises an eyebrow and laughs. “And what would have the... Last Costume In Your Size In The Store looked like?”

“In would have looked like red and blue, skin tight lycra,” I reply, following Jane's lead by stretching my legs out and leaning against the back of the lounge. “Hence why it's still there.”

“Spiderman?”

“You got it!”

“And... It didn't get your spidey senses all tingly?”

“Oh. Very droll.”

“I'll take that as a no, then.”

“Very good.”

“You do of course realise that it probably would have made Benji's day, seeing you dressed as Spiderman?”

“While, okay, that thought did fleetingly cross my mind, I think now when it comes to making Benji's day, you've got that well and truly in the bag.”

“Yay me.” Sighing, Jane traces her finger around the cuff off my coat sleeve. “What is this, anyway? Some sort of Navy uniform?”

“JAG Corps, I think,” I reply. “As I was paying about as much attention to the clerk as you were to Benji though, don't quote me on it.”

“So you're some sort of Naval lawyer, then,” Jane murmurs with a nod. “Got it. Actually...” Trailing off, she places her hand on my thigh and looks me in the eye. “I'm surprised to see you here.”

“At Hunley's Halloween Extravaganza?” I query, pulling a face. “As he made a very clear point of making the invitation non-negotiable, what choice did I really have? If I'd blown it off he was going to send me on some sort of liaison lark with the CIA.”

“So... Here you are. Dressed in the second last costume in the shop and hiding away on this chaise lounge.”

“I'm here. Hunley won, and...”

“And you know Will's here, don't you? Jane interrupts as, lifting her hand away from my knee, she points in the direction of the buffet. “In fact, there he is now, looking, it just has to be said, about as pleased to be here as you are.”

“I...” Having got the impression from Hunley that he wasn't joking about wanting everyone to put in an appearance at the party, I knew that Will would have had to have been around somewhere but, not needing the heartache, I hadn't made any attempt to try to spot him. Not because I didn't want to see him or check out his costume, but because... there's just no point. He doesn't want anything to do with me and, as I've made an art form out of telling myself these past three weeks, I just have to respect that and find a way to move on. It hasn't got any easier, and I'm still stuck in something of a rut over it, but life, it goes on. Not in the way I'd like it to, but the world keeps turning, day keeps following night and, again, as I keep telling myself, it just is what it is.

“Jane...”

“Looking at him, I'd say Benji managed to get his way with his costume too,” Jane states, calmly pressing on in the face of my reluctance to look over at Will, “wouldn't you? Not, mind you, that he doesn't look good. As... Boy, does he look good!”

“Fine! You win,” I mutter, giving Jane a very pointed, resigned look before sitting up straighter and locating Will as he stands, alone and lost looking, by the buffet. Dressed in a costume that, in its own way, is as unexpected as Jane's is, I take in his odd, almost SWAT like black and purple outfit and don't quite know what to say. In one way, like Jane said, it looks good. Really good, even. Tight fitting and slightly futuristic without straying in to over-the-top, science fiction territory, it hugs Will's body to perfection and certainly draws the eye. On the other hand though, he doesn't look comfortable in it and, for me, that ruins the entire picture. Knowing Will as I do – or at least, as I thought I did – I know he likes suits and well cut, good quality casual clothing, and having to be seen in something like this would have him feeling well outside his comfort zone. Appraising looks, whispered comments, the constant sense of eyes on him – I could be wrong, but I can't help but get the impression he wants to be here even less than I do.

“Uh...” Seeing no point in sharing any of this with Jane, I settle instead for travelling down the well worn path of going with the glaringly obvious. “I don't suppose you know who he's supposed to be?”

“Hawkeye! Of course,” Benji, who I swear just materialised out of freaking nowhere, announces cheerfully as perches himself precariously on the arm of the chaise lounge and toasts me with the can of Red Bull in his hand. “Who'd you think he was?”

“I had no idea,” I reply taking in Benji's classic Star Trek costume and mentally congratulating myself for actually recognising it, “just as, I'm sorry to have to break this to you, Captain Kirk, I still don't. Hawkeye?”

“He's an Avenger. Oh! And I'm not Kirk, I'm Scotty!”

“That, neither point, actually, doesn't exactly help, you know.”

“So says the man who only minutes ago was name dropping Gamora,” Jane pipes up.

“Speaking of not helping...”

“Gamora's not an Avenger, she's a Guardian,” Benji interjects as, taking a mouthful of Red Bull, he leans forward and gives Jane a disappointed look for having dared mix the two up. “Hawkeye's an Avenger, you know, Earth's Mightiest Heroes and all that,” he adds just a little too brightly. “To be exact though, and this is important, the outfit he's wearing is actually from Civil War. I mean, sure, I could have gone with the first movie or even Ultron, but I chose Civil War because it's the newest and, to be me anyway, the best. Well, the closet to the original comic version at any rate. As an archer he should have a bow and a quill, and trust me, I really did try to get him to go the full McCoy, but Will, he wouldn't have a bar of it. I mean, he'd taken the rest of the costume about as well as could be expected, but when it come to kitting him up with all of the weapons he started to get a bit tetchy and, knowing when not to push my luck, I decided to quit while I was ahead. So... Yeah. He's Hawkeye. Civil War Hawkeye.”

His point made – and how – Benji beams happily, toasts us both with his can and, just as quickly as he'd appeared in the first place, bounces off the arm of the lounge and disappears in to the throng of party goers.

“Although I could see his mouth moving up and down,” I murmur, turning my attention back to Jane and smiling wanly, “all I really heard just then was white noise. Uh... Make that, Red Bull fuelled white noise, at that.”

“While I agree Benji and energy drinks don't mix,” Jane responds, returning her hand to my knee and giving it a light squeeze, “all I really heard then was enthusiasm for a subject strangely close to his heart.” Tightening her grip on my knee, she gives me a sad look and, in a quite voice, adds, “Perhaps you should try it some time.”

“Enthusiasm?” My smile slipping, I sit up a little straighter and give a small shrug. “I'm not sure I'd even know where to start.”

“You just need to be passionate about something.”

“I wouldn't know where to begin there, either.”

“Oh. I can think of somewhere,” Jane states, lifting her hand away from my knee and, after pressing herself up against my side, curling her arm around my elbow, “and it just happens to be standing over there by the buffet.”

“No...” Realising that the reason for Jane linking her elbow with mine is probably to stop me from just jumping to my feet and taking off, I stare down at my feet and shake my head. “Please, Jane. As this isn't something I want to talk about, how about we go back to dissecting costumes, yeah?”

“Sorry. You mightn't want to be having this conversation, but you're going to have it,” she replies in a gentle, no-nonsense tone. “Ethan, I... I get where you're coming from here. I do. You've taken Will's decision to heart and, because you've accepted it's what he wants, you're quashing your own feelings and keeping your distance.”

“Look. I thank you for your concern, but I don't want to be...”

“Tough. Now shut up and listen.”

“Jane...”

“You need to talk to him.”

Surprised by the way she's honed straight on to the very heart of the matter without first meandering around it for a few minutes, I jerk my head up and stare at her. “That's just it,” I mutter, “I can't. I can't talk to him. He made his wishes clear and I'm respecting them.”

“You might be respecting them, but you're not listening,” Jane retorts, locking her searing – 'don't mess with me, buddy – gaze on mine as she tightens her hold on my elbow. “Ethan, I'm not joking around here when I say you... have... to talk to him.”

“No. I don't.”

“For fuck's sake, listen to me here. You have... got... to speak to Will.”

“No. I...” Falling silent as – the penny finally drops – it hits me that Jane clearly knows something that I don't, I cock my head to the side and murmur, “You know what caused all of this, don't you?”

She nods. “As a matter of fact, I do.”

“You...” I don't know why I'm surprised by Jane having gotten to the crux of the matter when I haven't been able to, but I am. Not so much as she couldn't leave well enough alone, as I know the team means almost as much to her as it does to me, but more that she actually managed to get somewhere with it. “Just went and asked him, did you?”

“I did.” She gives another nod. “It didn't get me anywhere, though.”

“If at first you don't succeed, try...”

“Try again,” she finishes with a brief smile. “You're right. Round one having hit a dead end, I put round two in action and just got him drunk before asking again.”

“And?” I know I probably shouldn't ask, that I should maintain the high ground that I planted myself on ever since Will walked off on me three weeks ago, but at the end of the day I'm only human and...

… I want to know.

Even if, ultimately, it doesn't achieve anything and nothing changes, I still want to know.

“I caused it, didn't I? I offer quietly. “Will's decision to leave the team, it... it was because of something I did, wasn't it?”

“Yes. It was,” Jane responds as she reaches across her lap and curls her hand around my wrist. “But it wasn't intentional, and Will, despite it not really changing anything, knows this. It was just... one of those unfortunate things.”

“One of those unfortunate things that... I caused.”

“Unwittingly caused,” she corrects. “And, again, Will knows this. He knows you didn't do it on purpose and, for what it's worth, he's as taken aback by his reaction as you are, but...”

“It's just one of those things,” I sigh. “I don't suppose...”

“I can't,” Jane interrupts. “Sorry. While I'd love to answer all your questions for you, I can't. It wouldn't be fair to Will who, drunk or not, confided in me. I mean, hell, I've probably said too much already, but...” Pausing, she smiles grimly. “Just call me psychic, but I can't help but think if I don't say something then nobody will. You... You're both as stubborn as each other.”

“Okay...” Refusing, although it's hard and I can only hope that I'm not setting my delicate mental state up for an even bigger crash, to give up on the dull glimmer of hope installed in me by Jane's statement of Will being as surprised by all of this as I've been, I uncurl her fingers from around my wrist and take her hand in mine. “I appreciate you can't tell me the... why, but... could you possibly tell me if you think it's... repairable?”

“Oh!” Her face brightening, Jane clutches my hand and nods. “I definitely think it's repairable,” she replies, squeezing my fingers in a vice-like grip. “The thing is, it's down to you. You're the key that could turn this horrid fucking mess around. Will, he... While he's as unsettled by all of this as you are, he's also dug himself in to a big enough hole that he feels... stuck. To make the first move could be seen as an admission of either defeat or simple acceptance, and... he deserves better than that. He deserves to know that... you're willing to fight for him.”

Frowning, I gingerly extract my hand from Jane's and, in lieu of knowing what else to say, decide to go with simple, boring, fact. “But he told me that, as his mind was made up, there was nothing more that needed to be said on the subject.”

“And I'm telling you that he was in self-protection mode and that the time has come for you to do what you always do and save the damn day!”

“But...” I get, which is promising in itself, what Jane's saying, and for the first time in three weeks I'm even willing to go so far as to give it a go. I even... want... to – bite the proverbial bullet at last – go up to Will in the hope of getting him to talk to me, but...

What do I say?

Where do I start?

What if I still manage to say the wrong think and fuck things up even more?

“Uh! No buts,” Jane interjects. “Don't over think it, or worry about it, or dwell on it, just... Do it. Just cross your fingers, talk to Will, and hope for the best. I've already told you that you hold in your hands the ability to fix things and if that's not enough to get you off your ass then I don't really know what else I can say to you.” Sighing, she pulls her arm away from mine and, after getting up from the lounge, crouches down in front of me. “Actually, I do know what I can say to you,” she continues quietly as, resting her hand on my thigh, she looks me directly in the eye and, from the strength of her gaze alone, all but dares me to look away, “but, Ethan, this is it. After this I'm officially done and you're on your own.”

“No. It's okay. I don't want you to...”

“Just shut up and listen,” she states over the top of me. “The stakes here are too high to mess around with and, while hopefully still respecting Will's rights and not saying too much, what I am going to say is this...” Shifting closer, she places her hands on my knees and casts a brief, but pointed glance over her shoulder at Will as he continues to hover listlessly by the buffet. “Never forget who it is we're talking about here. I don't mean... personally, but the bigger, more far reaching picture. Will, and I honestly think at least some of this is both deep seated and intentional, is...” Trailing off, she frowns in concentration for a couple of seconds before, with a small shrug, adding, “Well, he's like the invisible man. He either does what he's told or what he believes is expected of him and, because of this, he just blends into the background. Think about it. He's been with IMF longer than either Benji or I have, yet the first any of us knew of him was when he landed, quite literally, in your lap in Russia He just... He's just part of the furniture, you know, and I think it's fairly safe to say this causes him to be taken advantage of.”

Not quite sure that I'm following where Jane's going with this... invisible man... angle, I open my mouth to mention as such but she silences me with a look and, with a short, vaguely exasperated sounding sigh, attempts to pick up where she left off.

“Keeping in mind here that I'm pretty much making this up as I go along,” she continues, “just give me a moment to work out what exactly it is I'm trying to say. Will... Like I just said, he does what's expected of him without any thought or, for all I know, care as to his own thoughts on the subject. Think about it. After Croatia he goes to the Secretary to hand in his resignation, and walks out as an Analyst. You offer him a return to field work and he accepts it. IMF need someone to front that stupid senate committee and Will, despite having settled back into the field and, I honestly think, liking being a part of the team, can't find it in himself to refuse. Hunley dominates and all but uses him as a display piece because he wants to prove to everyone how he was the one capable of getting the... rogue... IMF back in line, while you... You have him effectively playing the role of double agent. Ethan...” Sighing again, Jane uses her hands on my knees to lever herself into a standing position. “He risked everything for you. Willingly, and not for reward, yet...” Leaning forward, she plants a soft kiss on the top of my head and in a quiet, sad voice, adds, “Just put yourself in his shoes for a moment and I think, that is I... hope, you'll see what it is I'm trying to get through to you.”

Her carefully worded hint given, Jane gives my shoulder a quick squeeze before, without saying another word, walking off and blending into the costumed crowd. I watch her back until she disappears and then, as the cogs grind both slowly and noisily in my head, turn my attention to Will as he continues to stand, now with an empty plate in his hand, by the buffet.

And...

Just like that and, hopefully better late than never, I get it.

Jane's words having their desired effect, I honestly think I finally get it.

And...

Yes. Everything that's unfortunately transpired was definitely my fault. Not intentionally, and if I'd pulled my head out of ass for a second I could have stopped it before it started, but I know now that I'm certainly the one to blame for what happened. I both put myself first and didn't spare a thought to anyone else, and this is the result. This... mess, all of it, from the self-doubt to the wasted time, is on my head and mine alone.

And...

Proving perhaps that Jane really is the font of all knowledge, what I also know is that it's down to me to try to fix it. I'm not convinced, given that Will has every right to stick to his sense of indignation here, that it'll work, and nor do I even know how exactly it is I'm going to approach it. What I do know though is that I'm going to try.

That, really, I... have... to try.

And...

Be it rightly or wrongly, there's no time like the present to man up and give it my absolute best shot.

Standing up, I ignore the unfamiliar voice of trepidation whispering in my ear and set off in Will's direction through the crowd of party goers. Deciding, albeit somewhat reluctantly, to just go with my gut and wing it as opposed to trying to work out every single thing to say to him in my head, I've just about reached Will when, out of the corner of my eye, I see it. 

The costume to quite possibly leave all other costumes lagging in its wake.

As questionable as it is unexpected, I find myself unable to look away and, courtesy of this momentary lapse in concentration, end up actually stumbling directly into Will.

“Uh! Sorry,” I state, forcefully banishing all thoughts pertaining to just how fucking stupid I happen to be in favour of seizing the moment and working with what I've now got. “When I saw it,” I continue as Will's expression changes from annoyed, to pleased, and then to unreadable in the blink of an eye. “it just... Well, as the saying goes, that which is seen can not be unseen, and clearly I... uh... couldn't look away.”

“It's certainly something else,” Will agrees in a neutral tone as he glances over his shoulder at the costume in question. “He procrastinated all week over whether he'd go with it, too.”

More than happy to smooth the way with small talk, I drag my gaze away from the really quite astonishing costume and, with a quick wrinkle of my nose, give Will my full attention. “You know who it is?”

“I do,” he confirms with a nod as, clearly not liking being the centre of my attention, he glances down at his empty plate. “Believe it or not, but under all that orange latex just happens to be our very own Secretary.”

“Hunley? Fuck...” Not having seen that one coming, I shake my head and sneak in another quick glance at the Secretary looking... resplendent... as Donald Trump. “Please tell me it's far more a case of it being the scariest costume he could find as opposed to, God forbid, a homage or political statement.”

“Hunley's a dick, but even he's not that big of a dick,” Will replies, risking a quick glance at me through downcast eyes. “I... I'm still not a fan of the man, but I can stand up for him in terms of his confronting costume having been chosen solely for it's scariness.”

“Well, it's certainly scary,” I mutter, “and, okay, while I never thought I'd hear myself saying this, good on him for having the balls to go with it. I mean, I'm not sure I'd have been able to go there myself.”

“If you had to, you would,” Will murmurs as, straightening his shoulders, he places his plate down on the table and, with weak smile that doesn't reach his tired eyes, gestures at me. “JAG Corps, huh?” he continues, doing his bit, I suspect, for changing the subject. “It... It may not be up there with the Trumps or the Orcs, but it... uh... it looks good.”

“Better than the other option, at any rate.”

“Sorry? I don't...”

“It was either this, or Spiderman,” I clarify with a weak smile of my own.

“Oh.” He shrugs and, possible due to his costume lacking pockets, picks at the few stray strands of cotton clinging to his one full length sleeve. “Benji would have liked it, though.”

“I'm sure he would have,” I reply with a dry snort of laughter. “Not, however, as much as he likes Jane's or, going on his enthusiasm for it, yours though.”

“All I'm going to say on that is... Remind me next year not to make the mistake of trusting Benji when it comes to costume advice,” Will mutters, scowling down at his costume. “I know it could be worse, but... Whatever. It is what it is.”

“Will...” The time for small talk having, I think, reached its natural end point, I reach out my hand and place it lightly on Will's upper arm. “I know the timing mightn't be right, and... uh... it doesn't have to be now, but there's a couple of things I need to say to you. Again, if you're enjoying the party it can wait, but...”

“Do I look like I'm enjoying the party?” Will interrupts as, his expression as unreadable as ever, he shrugs off my hand and glances towards the huge glass doors at the back of the ballroom. “Come on,” he adds matter of factly as he begins to walk off, “let's get this over and done with.”

Acknowledging that I'm probably lucky to have already gotten this far, I push Will's distinct lack of actual interest to the back of my mind and follow him as he weaves his way through the crowd before pushing the door open and, once he's stepped outside, holding it open for me. Nodding my thanks, I slip through the doorway and, once he's carefully shut it behind us, get in step with Will as, side by side, we walk down the stone steps that will take us on to the wide, perfectly manicured lawn. Although there's a small number of people leaning against the building as they smoke and share a laugh or two, neither of us pay them any attention and walk in not entirely comfortable silence on to the slightly damp grass. 

All things considered, I feel oddly calm. While I both know, and have accepted, that things may not go the way I hope they will, simply knowing what it is I now have to do, along with knowing where I went wrong in the first place has brought with it it's own peculiar sense of peace. I know where I fucked up, just as I know what I have to do to hopefully rectify it.

“Well? What is it that you have to say to me?” Will demands in a defensive tone as, coming to stop by one of the ten or so lit Jack-O-Lanterns spread across the lawn, he turns to face me and folds his arms across his chest.

“Two things,” I reply, taking half a step backward so as not to give the impression of crowding him. “The first is... thank you,” I continue, the words, to my great relief, just coming to me naturally and rolling off my tongue, “and the second is... I'm sorry. I know this could all be a case of too little, too late. Not to mention that you'd be perfectly in your right to... uh... tell me to go fuck myself, but... Will... Even if you never want to hear another word from me, know that I truly am sorry for...”

“Jane?” Will interrupts, his expression as impassive and closed off as I've ever seen it. “Let me guess, she...”

“While, yes, she gave me the very much needed kick in the right direction,” I state, cutting him off, “you have my word that she didn't tell me any actual... details. I'm not saying I ever would have worked it out without her assistance, but...” Pausing, I shrug and flash him a smile. “I know I should have, and for what it's worth that's yet another thing I'm sorry about, but I was... clueless. Arrogant, sorely mistaken, completely in the wrong, and clueless. Will...” 

I take a deep breath and, as he gazes at me through wide, unblinking eyes, decide to simply go for it. “I should have told you this in London, but I couldn't have done it without you. In fact, not only is it doubtful I'd even be standing here if you hadn't been there for me at every turn, but you're also as responsible for putting that bastard, Lane, behind bars as I am. You... You both kept me safe from the CIA and gave me a reason to keep going. Knowing that I wanted to get back to you, to... the friendship I'd already started to take for granted, gave me something to hold on to when everything else seemed to be disintegrating around me. I... I owe you everything, more than you'll ever know, and I don't know how, or even where to begin to make it up to you. I... It's fair to say I should have said this to you in London, and that by brushing you off like I did, even though it was never, and you've got to believe this, meant to hurt you and I honestly thought I was just protecting you from my foul mood, I made a terrible, terrible mistake, and that... that I wouldn't blame you if you took all of this with a grain of salt, but you mean a lot to me and I... I fucked up, okay? I fucked up, and I hurt you, and I'm sorry. I'm so incredibly fucking sorry that I don't know where to even... start... to make it up to you. So... Uh... There you have it. That's what I wanted to say to you. I'm sorry, and... thank you...

There not really being anything else I can think of saying that doesn't take me into the territory of simply repeating myself ad nauseam, I fall silent and, jamming my hands into the pockets of my pants, give a lopsided shrug as Will continues to gaze at me without so much as a hint of emotion on his face. He then, just as I'm starting to wish the ground would open up beneath me and swallow me hole, gives a small shrug of his own and, turning around, starts to walk slowly off.

“As I want to see if all of the pumpkins have been carved differently,” he states, apropos of, to me anyway, absolutely nothing as he shoots a quick glance of his shoulder, “let's walk.”

“Uh... Sure.” While I know it may only be an award winning example of clutching at straws, I take Will's invite to walk with him as a positive and hurry to position myself by his side. The Jack O Lanterns having indeed been carved with different facial expressions, we meander our way over to them one by one in silence until it all gets too much for me and, without even really stopping to think things over first, I can't help but blurt out, “Whatever you want to say to me, Will, I can take it. If nothing has changed and you just want me to fuck off, then all you have to do is say it.”

“I...” Coming to an abrupt stop between pumpkins, Will gazes down at the patch of grass separating our feet and, in a quiet voice that I have to lean forward to hear, murmurs, “I forgive you.”

Unable to believe that it could be this easy, I shake my head and place my hand on Will's shoulder. “Will... Please. Don't think you have to. I mean... Hell. Yell, scream, tell me what you really think. Having caused it, God knows I can take it.”

“I don't need to yell and scream,” Will replies as he lifts his head and, for the first time in far too long, looks me directly in the eye. “I believe you, and I forgive you.”

“You don't have...”

“I know I don't have to, but it's what I want. I want to put all of this behind us and move on,” he states, picking my hand up off his shoulder and giving it a warm squeeze. “Ethan... You didn't think, and I... I thought enough for both of us. Look. I'll admit that I was hurt, but I also reacted both spontaneously and in a way I felt trapped by. It... This. I never wanted any of this. It just snowballed out of my control and... uh... having made my bed I just had to lie in it.”

“I think you'll find it was me actually who made that particular bed,” I mutter grimly, “but... Thank you for being prepared to give me a second chance. I'm still not entirely sure that I deserve it, but, if you're willing to work with me I give you my word that I'll do whatever it takes to make up for it. Will... Your friendship really does mean a lot to me and I'd like, and I'll take over time if it's what you'd prefer, nothing more than things to go back to how they were seven months ago.”

“It's what I'd like, too,” Will responds, his face lighting up in a brilliant smile. “You know, I never meant to react the way that I did anymore than you meant to... uh... set me off, but... It's in the past now, and I for one just want to move on from it. Sure, more will probably need to be said just to clear the air once and for all, but as far as I'm concerned anyway it can wait. You've already said what I needed to hear and, again, I just want to move on.”

“Well, you'll certainly get no arguments from me,” I reply, giving Will a happy – not to mention incredibly relieved – smile of my own as, through unspoken agreement, we begin to walk back towards the ballroom. “Just... I have to say this, though, and that's... Thank you. Thank you for both listening to me and for accepting my apology. I know you waited too long to hear it, and I promise you now that it won't happen again.”

“And, in return, I promise you that if it does I won't disappear into myself and will actually speak up,” he replies, giving my hand one final squeeze before releasing it and rolling his shoulders. “Now... Moving on, yes?”

“Er... Yes?”

“Good answer.”

“Any suggestions?”

“As it happens, I do.”

“And... ?”

“I don't know about you, but I'm starving and that buffet just wasn't doing it for me.”

“Okay. Now that you've mentioned it I could certainly go for something to eat around now.” Grinning, as much at my unbelievable luck at having Will's accept my apology as I am at how easily we've slipped back in to bantering as though nothing had ever happened between us, I nudge Will with my elbow and look at him expectantly. “Got anything in mind?”

“I could really go a burger,” Will replies. “You?”

“Fries?”

“Of course.”

“And there'd have to be cold beer as well.”

“Naturally.”

“Got somewhere in mind?”

“Actually...” Coming to a stop by the final Jack-O-Lantern, Will gives me a shy look. “As I've got all the ingredients back at my place, I was wondering, if you're willing to risk my cooking skills, that is, if... uh... you'd perhaps like to come home with me...”

Beer, a burger, and my best friend, the one I haven't spoken to for three weeks, willingly inviting me into his home? Needless to say there's only one possible answer to this particular question and I don't hesitate in giving it. “I honestly can't think of anything I'd like more,” I reply. “At the risk of pushing my luck though, I'm going to have to risk your chauffeuring skills first as I came with Luther and don't have a car.”

“I think I can manage that for you,” Will states with a warm, natural smile as he glances towards the ballroom for a couple of seconds before laughing and stepping closer. “Don't look now, but we've got an audience.”

“Let me guess,” I mutter, confident enough in the answer to not even look,“a Star Fleet officer and an Orcette?”

“You missed the Corrections Officer.”

“Luther, too?”

“Yep. They're all there.” 

“It's sad that they've got nothing better to do, wouldn't you say?”

“That, or it's a sad indictment on how boring the party is...” Trailing off, Will shifts even closer and, with a smirk tugging on is lips, gives me a cunning look. “I wouldn't be against giving them something to really look at, you know...”

“Like what? Do you want them to think we're still arguing or...” A warm hand cupping my cheek a split second before cool lips settle on mine rendering me immediately silent, I slide my arm around Will's waist and, as our kiss instinctively deepens, pull him tightly against me.

Forgiven.

Not only picking up where we left off from, but already moving forward.

Lucky.

Just...

To say I feel like the luckiest man alive doesn't even begin to cover it.

~*~*~*~

“Good morning.”

Blue eyes blink me sleepily into focus as, not wanting to risk the morning after the – glorious – night before by appearing too presumptuous or eager, I smile cautiously and settle myself in a half sitting position against the headboard. “Sleep well?”

“Very,” Will replies through a yawn as he follows my lead by rolling over before sitting up and using the headboard to lean to rest his back against. The slightest of frowns flitting over his face as he realises he's naked from the waist up, he glances at me and, with a hopefully unbothered shrug, murmurs, “I'm assuming the last seven months are water under the bridge now and we're good, yeah?”

“Well, given the position you've woken up to find yourself in, you'd certainly hope so, wouldn't you?” I respond, hiding my unease at Will's response behind a light tone and brighter smile.

“Actually...” Stifling another yawn, Will shifts closer and, to my immediate relief, curls his arm around mine and presses up against my side. “It's what I'd hope regardless of the position I was in,” he murmurs, resting his head down on my shoulder. “Ethan... As I can't remember if I said this last night or not, I just want you to know that I've missed you. Not just while you were out there hunting The Syndicate, but ever since London, too, and I'm glad that things are good between us again as I really haven't enjoyed the last seven months much at all.”

“Just... good?” I tease, kissing the top of his head as he snuggles against me and, not for the first time, I marvel at just how well everything has turned out. From Jane giving me a shove in the right direction, to Will being able to find himself to accept my heartfelt apology, and all the way to everything the followed. The kiss. The mind blowing, exploratory kiss that said, to both of us, that things were going to be okay better than words ever could. The soul baring in the car. The reminiscing and free flowing conversation while we indulged in the wonderfully mundane task of both cooking and eating together. The knowledge that things weren't just okay then and there, but they were going to... be... okay, that by some miracle things hadn't really changed between us at all.

The...

… Sex.

Hands and lips roaming across warm, soft flesh for reasons born even more out of comfort than pure and simple lust. The sense of overwhelming release that had little do with the orgasm and everything to do with knowing that, as Will put it, yes, we were good.

“Fine. Very good,” Will retorts, lifting his head and planting a soft kiss directly on my cheekbone. “So good, in fact, that I want you to promise me something.”

“If it's to never take you for granted again then, take my word for it, you've got,” I state, draping my arm around his shoulders. “Just... Trust me. I've learnt that lesson the hard way.”

“While I'll take that too,” he murmurs, sitting up just straight enough to lock his gaze on mine, “what I'd been going to say is this... Next time you decide to go rogue, promise that you'll take me with you. I've done the whole staying behind and worrying thing and, I'm telling you now, I never want to do it again. So... Promise me that the next time you go off the reservation that I can come too...”

Having already lived through both the alternative and the aftermath, there's only one thing I can say to Will's request and I don't hesitate over giving voice to it.

“I promise.”

~ end ~


End file.
